


Just a Shot Away

by RodeoTown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family Drama, Gen, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-17 11:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16095221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RodeoTown/pseuds/RodeoTown
Summary: The summer at Grimmauld Place isn't Sirius Black's idea of a time well spent. The situation becomes infinitely grimmer when he stumbles upon a possible ploy to invade Hogwarts. The war is brewing, prejudices run deep and suddenly growing up means making decisions that no one in their right mind would willingly face. Marauders era, year five.





	1. The Map

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This story portrays the Marauders' fifth year at Hogwarts. I tried to stay as close to the canon as possible, consulting wikipedia and Pottermore probably way more than what can be called healthy. However, there are some discrepancies, the biggest probably being the fact that in this story the Marauders become Animagi at the end of the fourth year instead of the canonical fifth. I believe that this achievement and the work that led to it deserves attention of the literary kind that I couldn't fit within the story I wanted to tell without it becoming disjointed. So I made the decision to leave it off-screen in hope that the narrative flows better this way.
> 
> This story is unbeta'ed and English isn't my native language. I tried to do the best job I could while editing but you probably still might find things that'll make you scream and cuddle up with your security blanket.
> 
> Disclaimer: Somebody else's sandbox, somebody else's toys. But sweet Merlin on a bike, aren't they shiny.

Merlin, what wouldn't he give for an invisibility cloak right now.

Sirius held his breath when he stepped inside his father's study and gently pushed the door closed behind himself. The inevitable click resounded in the quiet room with a force akin to a thunder and Sirius froze with his fingers still tightly woven around the bronze handle, listening in to the now muffled sounds of a conversation taking place down the corridor. In the drawing room, he supposed. He waited a beat, fighting the crazy certainty that if his entry and the door hadn't managed to draw his parents' attention, the roaring staccato of his heart surely would. There was just no way they couldn't hear it when each strike felt as if somebody hit a giant gong right next to his ear.

Still, apparently there was as the voices miraculously hadn't grown louder and Sirius let himself exhale a small breath of relief, feeling the worst of the tension leave his shoulders. As much as Remus' claim that Sirius' case was one of a compulsive attention seeker couldn't exactly be called unjustified, right now any recognition of his person was the absolutely last thing he wanted. Then again, Remus would just probably say that if that was the case, Sirius would have stayed in his room like he had been told to, and that there was a reason why 'compulsive' was the word used. In all honesty, Sirius really couldn't see himself winning that particular argument. It was what Remus did, he found holes in even most watertight logic and had an annoying propensity for being right.

Truth was Sirius and his parents had been playing this game for the whole summer. Or more to the point, he had been playing while his parents had been working on squashing his childish whims, as they called his opinions purposefully uttered so that every last member of the Noble and Most Bigoted House of Black had a chance to hear them. But playing wasn't really the right word for him either, not if it was supposed to refer to that bitter viciousness that fed Sirius' actions. It was downright stupid too, brought him nothing but peals of yelling and insults, followed up by new punishments. As it was, Sirius was already confined to his room until the end of summer, and most of the time he still couldn't stop his mouth from opening. Compulsive indeed. That and as James had once pointed out there must have been an error in his making, as a result of which Sirius was devoid of the natural filter between brain and mouth. Looking at his parents, Sirius supposed errors had been unavoidable. There was a crazy combination of pride and anger and sheer dumb stubbornness alighted somewhere deep within his being that he blamed for senseless stunts such as wearing a Muggle leather jacket for a family meeting, or replying to his mother's howler with one of his own. It was a matter of principle he told himself, but in reality he knew better.

Still, attention seeking or not, Sirius really could do without being at the receiving end of his father's wrath for invading Orion's study. There were offenses and there were _offenses_ , and despite all his foolish bravado, Sirius did his best to avoid facing the consequences of the latter. Besides, he had a creeping suspicion that at this point it would take much less for his parents to finally completely lose their temper with him. A small, probably suicidal, part of him almost wished for that to happen. Again, he thought of what Remus had once said, that Sirius had a disturbing tendency to put his fingers in the fire just to see how long he could keep them there. Sirius had laughed then, his trademark bark-like laughter that had sounded hollow even to his own ears.

Merlin, he missed his friends. Even if they sometimes did act like insufferable gits with a penchant for cheap mind analyses.

"Lumos," he muttered, taking out his wand.

He kept the light dim, hoping it wouldn't be too pronounced in the slit under the door. He crossed the room, retrieve two leather-bound books from the magically enlarged pocket in his jacket and carefully placed them at the exact spots he had taken them from before his trip to the east of the city. Sirius had access to the family library, or at least he used to before being sentenced to spending summer in his room, but apparently the volumes that had any chance of proving beneficial to his grand side project didn't sit well with the official Black propaganda. Fortunately, the place of exile for the forbidden books was his father's study and Orion thought the walls of the room impenetrable due to the sheer magnitude of his persona. Which in practice meant no wards to worry about.

It was well after midnight when Sirius had come back and he had counted on his parents being asleep by then, just like they had been previous nights making his life so much easier. But as the stairs weren't in immediate vicinity of the drawing room he hoped he could still sneak up to his room unnoticed. He was about to leave when something lying on his father's desk caught his attention; a piece of neatly folded parchment occupied a central place on the wooden area. Without really thinking about it, Sirius approached the desk. Sneaking around Grimmauld Place had taught him that whatever his parents kept, a good part of it was bound to be seriously dark magic. Not enough to be considered a real precaution, Sirius figured wrapping his fingers in a handkerchief before touching the parchment was still better than nothing. As he unfolded it, the yellowish paper remained blank, but when Sirius started mentally going through possible spells that could reveal the contents to him, thin black lines started to spread, crisscrossing the old parchment and combining into convoluted patterns. It was a while before he could make sense of the strange drawings and when he did he couldn't hold back a gasp of surprise that escaped his mouth.

In front of his eyes, splayed on the dark wood of his father's desk was a meticulously drawn, highly detailed map of Hogwarts.

"What the…"

It was as far as he got though, as suddenly he could hear footsteps in an alarming proximity of the room. Forgetting about any protection, he returned the parchment to its original shape, leaped behind the desk and dived under it, shutting off the light and cursing his luck with everything he could think of.

That was it, next summer he was really going to nick the invisibility cloak from James' trunk.

The desk was situated in front of the window and faced the door. Sirius suspected that this layout had a lot to do with the image his father wanted to project while receiving wizards from behind the giant piece of furniture. As it was, the front of the desk gave Sirius cover and he prayed to whomever was listening that Orion wouldn't have any need to step behind it.

The voices rang louder now and Sirius had to still the instinctive urge to jump as the door opened and light filled the room. He could hear his father's sure steps entering the study.

"I can't see why you couldn't just get Kreacher to deliver the map, Uncle." Bella's displeased voice sounded from farther away. Probably leaning against the door frame, she had a habit of doing that.

He couldn't see his father's reaction but judging from Bella's next words the look he dealt her must have been glacial.

"It's a piece of parchment." Sirius could almost hear the shrug in her tone.

"I would normally say gracing that with a comment would be an insult to your intelligence, but you give an impression you don't have much appreciation for it yourself." Orion's calm icy voice sent shivers down Sirius' spine.

"Tiptoeing may be good for politics, Uncle," she hissed, too conceited to see the warning for what it was. "But how exactly remains a mystery to me, as it certainly isn't even remotely effective."

Dear Merlin, but she was always a nutter.

Orion's tone when he replied was deadly and this time there was no mistaking the threat wrapped in the words. "On the ground of you being a guest at my house and for the sentiment I have for my wife's niece I will let your observation slide. This time. You'd be wise not to make the mistake of assuming I will do that again."

"My apologies," Bella said in a tone that bellied the words, but Sirius couldn't help the satisfaction at the hint of fear in her voice. "I was out of order."

There was a sound of paper rustling and Sirius guessed Orion must have handed the map to Bella.

"Hogwarts," she said in a dreamy voice Sirius knew better than to take for a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Didn't expect the thought of dropping by the old shack would give me such a thrill."

All alarms in Sirius' head went off. Hogwarts, why would Bella want to go to Hogwarts? He was unable to stop the bile rising in his throat, too afraid he already knew the answer.

"Dumbledore is not a person you wish to underestimate," Orion remarked dryly.

"Dumbledore is a senile old fool who doesn't realize his time is up. But I'd be more than happy to show it to him."

"Perhaps."

"Well, it's been most pleasant, Uncle." The venom in Bella's words told Sirius that this time she hadn't missed the patronizing tone in Orion's response. Sirius suspected that one of these days his cousin was going to snap; her temper seemed to be constantly on the fuse roughly the size of an old dungbomb and she was just crazy enough to act out on it. He only wished he could see his father's expression when she finally did. "I'm afraid I should be on my way. There's still another meeting I need to attend."

"Kreacher will see you to the floo."

When, at his father's call, the elf popped in the room, Sirius was sure that was it for him, but surprisingly all the old vermin did was ask Bella to follow him and soon Sirius could hear the steps receding in the corridor. But that still left him hidden under his father's desk with Orion in the same room. His father sauntered slowly around the interior. Sirius couldn't see what he was doing but dreaded that Orion's steps would finally lead him behind the desk. His father's outbursts weren't exactly a novelty to him, but Sirius had a sinking suspicion that being discovered while listening in to a secret conversation would introduce him to an entirely new level of Orion's fury, level he had no wish to be acquainted with. He could feel the droplets of sweat roll down the nape of his neck making his hair stick to the bare skin and he willed his breathing to be as slow as physically possible.

Finally, after a few agonizing minutes Sirius heard his father depart, all lights disappearing in the wake of the door shutting behind him. He counted to twenty before allowing himself to take a deeper breath. Warily, he crept out from under the desk, crossed the room and put his ear to the door. When no sound came Sirius risked slipping out and on jelly legs hurried upstairs.

Only after he reached his bedroom did the full meaning of what he had just accidentally witnessed hit him. Hogwarts, Bellatrix was planning to invade Hogwarts. No, not Bellatrix, he corrected himself. She found the plan amusing all right, but Sirius was all too aware that she wasn't a planning type. Did Dumbledore know? But how could he? He wasn't the one living in the bloody haven for all things dark and cunning where the secret middle-of-the-night plotting took place. There was also the part about showing the Headmaster that, as Bella put it, his time had run out that Sirius really, _really_ didn't like. Crap.

Determined to ignore the tremor in his hands, Sirius rummaged in his trunk where painstakingly wrapped in the folds of his school robes sat a small mirror.

"James," he whispered to the black surface. "James, wake up."

When nothing happened, he risked calling in a slightly stronger voice. He was well familiar with James Potter's sleeping habits and as it was, usually nothing short of a Quiditch match was a motivation enough to wake him up. His dead-to-the world beauty rest had been the culprit of numerous failed pranks before the rest of the Marauders had finally given up and cancelled James' turns to wake them, sharing the sentinel duty between themselves instead. As infuriating as it had been, even James' giddy satisfaction hadn't made them withdraw that decision.

"Prongs!"

"Padfoot?" Sirius could see a change in the mirror as the black surface was suddenly filled with a haze of dark shapes, moving too fast for Sirius to pinpoint what they belonged to. Finally, it showed a very groggy face of his friend. "'S anything happened?"

"I've just witnessed my father conspiring with Bellatrix to break into Hogwarts."

"Wait, what?" Sirius could see James propping himself upright in the bed. His friend disappeared from his sight for a second during which the room was lit up and suddenly a more lucid and wide-eyed James reappeared in the mirror, straightening the glasses on his nose. "Sirius, are you all right?"

He hadn't seen much of any of his fellow Marauders this summer and when his owling privilege had been ceased the only contact with the outside world had become the Two-Way Mirror. Still, between his parents' maniacal desire to cut him off and Kreacher's self appointed mission to catch him doing something deemed forbidden, Sirius hadn't risked talking to James all that often. He supposed then that the question really shouldn't have come as a surprise.

"Yes, I'm fine. They didn't see me."

James gave a small sigh of relief which Sirius wasn't sure he should be cross with or grateful for. "So what happened?"

Sirius recapped the events following his return to Grimmauld Place as faithfully as he could, all the while observing growing terror showing in his friend's face.

"Merlin's beard," James asserted after Sirius was finally done.

"Yeah, I was thinking along the same lines."

"We have to do something!" James exclaimed, then winced when Sirius' head instinctively shot towards the door. "Sorry, mate."

Sirius ignored him. "But what? We can't exactly owl Dumbledore. I can already see this letter: hello Headmaster, I've heard my cousin and my dad plotting to kill you. Enjoy your holiday, eh? Just imagine someone other than Dumbledore laying their eyes on it."

"Not to mention that suggesting Bella would be able to kill him is slightly offending at best. I do not wish to start my year with a detention for failing to show proper respect for Hogwarts staff. The Headmaster, no less."

"But that leaves us with the same question: how are we going to warn Dumbledore?"

"We have to go to Hogwarts," James said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You do realize that he can be in about million other places right now, don't you?"

"But he lives there, right? I mean, he can be somewhere else, sure, but it's almost two o'clock in the morning and in all likelihood he's snoring in his chambers after consuming a gigantic bag of lemon drops. Or whatever else it is that headmasters do on holiday."

Truth was, Dumbledore might or might not be at Hogwarts and Sirius thought James must realize it. But wherever the Headmaster was, the school was the only place they knew of they actually had a fair chance of finding him. It was a gift James had, clocking the problem and coming up with the plainest, most impossible solution, the implied lemon drop dependency notwithstanding. Sirius had long supposed that instinctive combination of the straightforward and unexpected was partly the reason why James made such a good Quiditch player. That and maybe also his mad flying skills.

Sirius held James' intent gaze for a while, there was a sense of pressing hurriedness he couldn't shake and was sure his friend couldn't either. In the end, it was well warranted.

"James, how fast can you get to the eastern outskirts of the city?"

James squinted at the mirror, an unmistakable glint of mischief appearing in his eyes. "East isn't exactly the right direction now, is it?"

"You're right, we have to go to Hogwarts and I think I just know how we can get there."

* * *

"Where did you get this thing from?"

"Flea market I hear they call it."

James arched an eyebrow in an unspoken question. "I swear, your fascination with everything Muggle is becoming more and more unnerving," he paused, a smug look appearing in his face. "Your mother must be delighted."

Sirius grinned in response, "That she is."

James was well aware of Sirius' habit of bumming around the Muggle London as well as the primary reason that had pushed him to take it up in the first place. Sirius had refined sneaking out of Grimmauld Place to an art, but the state of affairs at his house during the summer had been slowly deteriorating and effectively preventing him from spending out more than a few hours at night when he had been sure his parents were sleeping. Things had been rough, or at least rougher than usual, and even though Sirius realized that a great part of it he owed to his own doings, the knowledge wasn't a big help. He wasn't sure how much of that James could gather, but since his friend wasn't saying anything on the matter, Sirius supposed it was quite a lot.

"Still, at least it explains the full moon incident," James observed, almost contemplatively.

"Oh, shut up. It was Remus' fault, he's the one with the abundance of fur, while mine is always nice and shiny."

"Maybe. But I don't recall Remus ever mentioning going to places that sell fleas. What?" James huffed at Sirius' snigger.

"Oh, nothing. Just, next time you see Evans? Be sure to ask her where her family stocks up on fleas. It'll make a splendid conversation starter, may give you just the boost you need. Not to mention the practical side, after all you poisoned all of mine, remember?"

"And I'm not going to make that mistake again," James bristled. "Okay, fine, so that flea market, I take it doesn't actually sell fleas, does it?"

"Shockingly, no. Just old, mostly used-up and flea-full things. Hence the name, I suppose."

"Which still points to you as the primary suspect," James grinned. "You have always been a stray, Padfoot."

"Can we please focus on the matter at hand?"

"Like for example why we're in the East London staring at your latest Muggle purchase?"

"Exactly like that."

They were standing in a small garden shed Sirius had spent a better part of summer nights in. It was situated within the premises of a magical kindergarten so he hadn't needed to worry about the Improper Use of Magic Office landing on his case while the summer provided the much-needed absence of a flock of nosy kids. The Trace was an imperfect thing at best, which the Marauders had discovered and put to good use on numerous occasions. They had figured that any remotely magical surroundings instantly muted the alarm that was supposed to be set off by any underage magic, so they always made sure that all their extra-curricular endeavours took place in carefully chosen locations.

"So? This thing?" James jutted his chin at the very product of Srius' vacation plan of how not go off his rocker and set Grimmauld Place on fire. "What exactly does it do?"

"Your ignorance hurts me. It's a motorcycle, a 1930 BSA Sloper to be exact."

James's brows flew impossibly higher on his forehead.

"A Muggle means of transportation?" Sirius offered.

"Aren't those supposed to be confined to the ground and take ages to travel from one place to another?"

"I've been doing some enhancements," Sirius said with a sly smile. "She's still in test and trials but should take us straight to Hogwarts no problem."

"She?"

Judging by his friend's face, Sirius assumed his grin was enough of a reply.

James gave a miniscule shake of his head, incredulity vying with mock concern in his voice. "As soon as the term starts we really need to get you a girlfriend."

"Says the one with a hopeless crush on the girl who can't even say hi to you without a wish to snap your broom in two. Sorry, Prongs, but this whole relationship thing? Not your strongest side."

"See, that's where you're wrong. I'm just afraid that until you are hit with the blunt fact of Lily becoming my wife - and she will eventually, mind you - you won't be able to fully appreciate the subtle mastery of my workings."

"Uh-huh, sure, Prongs, whatever you say."

"So, those enhancements you've mentioned?"

"She flies," Sirius beamed proudly.

James, however, didn't seem to share his enthusiasm. "Yeah well, so do brooms."

"Right, but she's way more stable and easier to navigate on long distances."

"Only when you don't know how to handle your broom properly." James' expression was nothing if not irritatingly smug.

"Come on, Prongs, it's too windy for a broom and we do have to fly all the way to Scotland. She on the other hand-"

"Can you please stop referring to your Muggle motor thing as if she was a person."

"You've just called her 'she'," Sirius pointed out with a triumphant grin. "And be nice as _she's_ going to carry your broom-accustomed hindquarters a good distance above the ground. Not so smart to hurt her feelings, mate."

"I suppose your girl's vanity is going to suffer anyway." James scratched the back of his head. "We have to disillusion her. And well," he waved a hand in an all-encompassing gesture, "us."

"It's a shame. I've spent a good deal of time getting all those golds and reds just right."

"McGonagall would be so proud."

"Shall we?"

James retrieved his wand. "Ladies first," he said as he tapped the bike muttering _Dissimulo_.

Sirius waited a couple of seconds during which nothing happened and then gaped as the frame of the motorcycle slowly started to pulsate with various colors displayed in different places of the shed. The rest of the machine seemed unbothered by the spell.

"Err, James? I don't think it's supposed to work like that."

"It's not like I'm stopping you from taking your hands out of your pockets," James clipped.

It took them about fifteen minutes to disillusion most of the bike and another five to work on themselves, though every now and then the frame would still show a tendency to pick various colours from its surroundings and flash them instead of blending in with the background.

Sirius lifted his forearms, amazed at just how well they fitted in with the dirty wooden planks laid on the floor. He could still make out the shape of his limbs, but he had an advantage of knowing exactly where to look, he doubted anybody gazing in the sky would notice anything, wacky frame or not.

"Well, I suppose as long as we don't pass any vividly coloured kites on our way, we should be fine," James said and even though Sirius couldn't see his friend's face, he heard the jubilant smile in the words loud and clear. "Which, judging by the fact it's the middle of the night, shouldn't be that big of a problem. Let's go."

They mounted the bike a bit awkwardly, Sirius in front and James sitting behind him.

"Hold on," Sirius said as he pulled the bike off its kickstand.

He could feel James shift, but if there was anything his friend wanted to say it was drowned by the sound of the engine sputtering to life. Sirius gunned her for a second for the effect before dropping her into gear and releasing the clutch. The bike instantly shot forward making him almost lose his grip on the handlebars.

"You sure you know how to ride this thing?" James' scream was right next to his ear.

"Sure thing. Just need to get the hang of it," Sirius shouted back as he stirred the bike out of the shed and down towards a narrow dirt road. "We need to get some speed before I can take her up."

"Get the hang of it?" James all but screeched, his arms wrapping impossibly tighter around Sirius' middle. "You trying to tell me you haven't ridden her, I mean it, I mean this thing, before?"

"I don't know if you've noticed but she's a bit of a racket. And seeing as I've been here mainly at night-"

"It is night, Padfoot! And this bloody thing is louder than the Hogwarts Express! What's the point of disillusioning her when she's going to scream our presence in the three-mile radius!"

The bike was gaining speed, sending the gravel flying in its wake. Sirius felt the wind biting against his face, but the hand of the speedometer was still barely reaching 50 mph. It wasn't enough. He rolled on the throttle and felt a sudden pang of wild exhilaration at the purring response of the engine.

"Well, theoretically," he yelled over the noise, "as soon as we leave the ground it should be quiet. As of now she's still going Muggle."

"Theoretically, he says theoretically! And I'm going to die. Killed by my best friend's Muggle excuse for a hobby."

"It's a catchy phrase, will make an excellent note on your tombstone." Sirius spared a look at the instrument panel. "Okay, hang tight. I'm taking her up."

He yanked the bars upwards feeling the magic he had been putting into the bike stir awake. Familiar static tickled his forearms and raised the hairs at the nape of his neck. The front of the machine lifted as if climbing up an invisible ramp and was promptly followed by the rear wheel. As soon as it left the ground, the bike started to ascend more rapidly and gave a few hectic surges upwards. James let out a strangled gasp and Sirius flung himself forward, struggling to keep hold of the bars and correct the course. It hurdled and wringed in his grip, and he could feel the strain shaking up the muscles in his arms. The bike shot upwards one more time and then dived abruptly, offering them a good view of the hastily approaching ground. With all the strength he could muster, Sirius strived to combat the wayward machine, cursing and pleading and willing the giant heap of steel to just bloody listen. Finally, the front wheel budged and Sirius snatched the handlebars up with everything he had. The bike soared up and the route evened out, cutting clearly through the dark night.

"Rough patch, huh?" Sirius chuckled nervously. The velocity made his eyes water. He couldn't exactly see his hands but was sure his knuckles were milky white on the handlebars. There was still a tremor spurting up his arms and as the sudden adrenaline rush was slowly ebbing away, he could feel the weakness creeping in in its place.

James growled something unintelligible, which Sirius had an uncanny feeling would make a sterling commentary to some of the more vivid books residing in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts.

"James, mate, you have to speak up. What's the point of murder threats if all I can hear is you mumbling in my jacket?"

"I said," James stressed, apparently recovering from the rocky start, "next time you have an _idea_ , just remind me to hex you."

"You sure don't mean it. You love my ideas."

"Uh, no. I love chocolate frogs. You know why? They're not trying to kill me!"

The engine roar was steadily quietening until it trailed off to a low murmur. Sirius navigated the bike over a small copse and then took her up and accelerated. She sailed easily through the night sky, eating up the distance effortlessly. Below stretched a cookie-cutter cavalcade of block-like houses and the thought of Muggles sleeping inside their perfect little boxes, unaware of what was going on right above their heads filled him with a kind of strange audacious elation. It felt a lot like that first full moon when they had run wild in the Forbidden Forest, high on fear, adrenaline and a euphoric sense of freedom.

Soaring through the night sky, Sirius was especially glad about the extra time he had spent perfecting the speeding spells. The combination of velocity, chilly wind hitting him in the face and the massive weight underneath was exhilarating. It was nothing like flying a broom, which might be more manoeuvrable and better for fast curves and last minute turns, but had nothing of the solid power the motorcycle radiated. Sirius pushed her even faster, revelling in the liberating sensation.

"So okay," James said shifting slightly in his seat, a tinge of wonder in his tone. "Maybe I do love some of your ideas. Even if I uphold the view that most of them are potentially deadly."

Sirius grinned. "Not too bad, eh?"

They flew some time in quiet, each engrossed in their own thoughts, the motorcycle purring contentedly underneath.

"It's good to see you, Padfoot," James said with a somewhat sheepish hint to the words. "I'm almost happy your father wants to kill Dumbledore."

Sirius couldn't see his friend, but he really didn't have to to know the git was grinning. As off the wall as it sounded, it was the very reason why they were currently gliding over London on Sirius' magic-enhanced Muggle motorcycle and dashing towards Hogwarts at the breakneck speed. It was downright absurd, that's what it was. That, and also disturbingly similar to Sirius' own thoughts, and it just cracked him up. He laughed, not caring one bit about the echo of the sound resounding under the star-strewn sky.


	2. The Happy and the not so Happy Returns

 

It started raining just outside of York. One minute the sky was clear and the next dark clouds hovered above their heads, the half moon gone, shielded somewhere behind the thick ominous duvet, and angry torrents of frigid water mercilessly whipping down on them. The wind picked up, blowing through the layers of their soaked clothes and changing navigating the motorcycle from invigorating to downright exhausting as suddenly maintaining the course without the machine having support on the ground felt like leading a raging dragon on a leash. Or so Sirius supposed it might, as he didn't have any experience in the latter. Nor he wished to, really. He figured wrestling with a mass of steel hurled in the wind like a balloon was still better than dragons. At least motorcycles, even those enchanted, generally refrained from breathing fire.

He tried to share that thought with James, but his friend didn't seem to appreciate his attempt at brightening the mood, suggested that Sirius' take on that whole positive thinking thing was a tell of how rapidly his mental state was deteriorating.

Then, a few miles later, the disillusionment charms began flickering in and out, only to wear off entirely somewhere above the Southern Uplands. The spell that did hold was the one cast by James as first and currently the frame was an uninviting hue of granite, which was still by far less conspicuous then red and gold. James and Sirius debated briefly taking the motorcycle back to the ground and working up a new set of charms, both too tired and cold to actually mean it. In the end, they decided to just avoid flying over Muggle settlements, neither too keen on pointing out that they wouldn't know where exactly those were unless looking at one from above, and that it could be a tad too late then. The weather, at least in this aspect, was on their side though, and seeing as Sirius had some major difficulty identifying what was several feet ahead, the chances of traumatizing some poor Muggles - and consequently incurring a monumental case of Ministry wrath - weren't that big. Or so they hoped.

They scythed through the thick cutting torrents of icy water, occasionally lowering the course to check their way against the Hogwarts Express railroad tracks, and by the time the familiar outline of Hogwarts Castle loomed in the distance, they were drenched, teeth-chattering cold and utterly spent.

Sirius manoeuvred the bike downwards to the grounds situated on the Western side of the castle. The machine bounced a few times in a flimsy attempt at a tantrum but then obediently stayed down.

They slipped off the motorcycle and Sirius didn't even bother to prop it upright, let it fall over instead. The engine ticked in the crisp air.

"Reckon we should hide your girl?" James asked rubbing his hands. His gaze jumped somewhat skeptically between the castle and the muddy machine lying in the grass. "You know there's no way Dumbledore's going to let you keep her."

"Grown fond of her, haven't you?"

James shrugged, which, given his friend's violent shivers, looked slightly comical. "We're still alive, aren't we?" He cleared his throat. "So?"

Sirius sent a longing gaze at the motorcycle, couldn't help the rueful sigh that escaped his mouth. "It's not like Dumbledore won't ask how we've got here."

Neither of them admitted the blatantly obvious that first enchanting a Muggle motorcycle and then using it to fly over half of Britain sanctioned much more than merely forfeiture of the abused object.

"We couldn't very well sit and do nothing," James said as if hearing Sirius' exact thoughts, but he sounded more apprehensive than convinced.

It was the truth though.

"Come on," Sirius urged turning on his heels and heading towards the castle.

They didn't manage more than a couple of steps when they heard loud barking from behind, promptly followed by shuffling of someone scurrying after them.

"Hey, yeh, stop righ' there!"

The booming rugged voice was unmistakable and they exchanged a quick look before turning back to see a very haggard familiar face of the Hogwarts gamekeeper. His left hand was outstretched, gripping an oil lamp, while the other was tightly fastened around the handle of an aged pink umbrella, which despite the weather remained closed and rested by the giant's side. His battered coat, illuminated by the small flame, hung from his shoulders haphazardly, revealing something that looked an awful lot like hippogriff-patterned pyjamas.

The brown pointer barked once more, then wiggled his tail and came cavorting towards them, jumping and sniffling joyfully.

"Peanut! Come here righ' this second, you great barmy fleabag!"

"Think he's talking to you?" James snickered in an undertone, patting the wriggling dog. Then added loudly, "Right beast, this one."

"Could probably lick any intruder to death," Sirius supplied, not able to keep his face straight as the dog jumped on him, apparently trying to perform the very action.

"James? Sirius?" Hagrid made a few steps in their direction until the halo of light had a chance of catching their faces.

A couple of their detentions had been supervised by the amiable gamekeeper and even if the man did have a rather disturbing habit of befriending deadly creatures, Sirius would choose roaming around the Forbidden Forest over cleaning boys' lavatories the Muggle style any day. Come to think of it, they roamed around the Forbidden Forest out of their own will anyway, together with one befriended very deadly creature.

"Blummin' heck! An' jus' wha' are the two o' yeh, rascals, doin' here in the dead o' the nigh'? An' on holidays fer that. Look at yeh, yeh're all soaked an' shiverin'. Yeh're gonna catch yer death."

"Er," Sirius started not too eloquently but was cut off by James.

"We need to talk to the Headmaster. Is he in the castle?"

"Ter Dumbledore?" Hagrid looked alarmed, his massive weight shifting from one foot to the other. "Why would yeh wan' to talk to him?"

"There's something we need to tell him," James said earnestly. "We wouldn't have come here if we thought it could wait."

Hagrid looked from James to Sirius searchingly, his brows furrowed to the point where the thick shaggy clumps almost obscured his glinting eyes. There were moments, rarely though they occurred, when Sirius wished their reputation as mischief makers weren't so notorious. He peeked at James for some sort of assistance, but his friend wasn't looking at him; pale and shaking and with his wet hair plastered to his skull - something Sirius had thought impossible - James was staring intently at the gamekeeper.

"No poin' in standin' in the rain then." Hagrid cleared his throat and Sirius wondered briefly if he made a similarly beat and slightly desperate impression. "Yeh look like you had yer share of that already." _Oh. Right_. "Les go."

The gamekeeper headed towards the western entrance of the castle, whistling at Peanut to follow. They had some trouble keeping up with his long strides, but eventually caught up just as Hagrid was opening the heavy door.

The interior was warm and welcoming, and Sirius thought that after four years he should really stop being surprised by the cordial feeling these walls always gave him. He imagined it must be similar to what most people experienced when they came back home after a long absence.

They cut through the corridors quickly, occasionally followed by angry huffs when the light of Hagrid's lamp caught some of the portraits decorating the walls. It was odd to think they were the only students in the castle. Hogwarts had always had a majestic feel to it, and in all honesty, Sirius couldn't quite pinpoint what was so different about now from wandering around the castle after the curfew; these were the same empty corridors, well-memorized passages and frequently trodden routes. Still, the thought of the deserted dormitories felt strangely unnerving. The usual sense of playfulness, the promise of secrets waiting for someone to discover them, the encouraging tips and false leads, as if the castle itself was the biggest prankster of them all, were almost indiscernible, drifting somewhere in the background too elusive to catch. Instead, the silence that wreathed the corridors like a fog lingered expectantly. There was something old and powerful about these walls, an ancient magic pulsating in each stone, and for the first time Sirius had a feeling that, despite priding himself and his fellow Marauders on knowing the castle better than any other student, he was far from realizing even half of the secrets contained within the old construction.

Finally, they stopped in front of the figure of the gargoyle which guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. That the way also led to Dumbledore's chambers was a novelty to him, but Sirius couldn't exactly say it was surprising. He knew James had been here before, the day when his grandmother had died and he'd been called in the middle of the Charms classes to be escorted back home. Dumbledore had a Floo connection to the official net he could activate and deactivate at wish that served for emergencies only. Or at least so James had told them when he'd come back to school after the funeral. Sirius knew Remus had been in the place a couple of times too, but had always avoided the subject, even when pestered mercilessly by the rest of the Marauders. Given that the primary reason for those visits had been his friend's tendency to sprout fangs, claws and lots and lots of tangled fur together with the overwhelming need to eat people once a month, Sirius thought he could understand Remus' reluctance, even if it hadn't exactly stopped him from asking. Sirius himself had never set foot in the Headmaster's office, though his Head of House would probably say that it wasn't for the lack of trying.

"Liquoris Shrimps," muttered Hagrid and the ugly figure stepped aside revealing the circular staircase waiting behind.

Hagrid stepped inside, urging them to follow, too preoccupied by the situation to notice the way James mouthed the password disbelievingly. Sirius shrugged in a what-can-you-do manner. As far as he was concerned at the list of Dumbledore's peculiarities the Headmaster's unusual taste in sweets didn't even make the first page. James, however, apparently didn't share that opinion and Sirius couldn't hold a chuckle at the utter horror written on his friend's face.

They jumped in after Hagrid, making a tight fit together with Peanut, who still had trouble containing his joy. The staircase took them upwards and within seconds they were faced with a pair of double oak doors.

Hagrid rapped at the wood and the right wing screeched open. He tentatively stuck his head inside.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he called, clearly uncomfortable. A few hesitant steps took him farther inside. "Sir?"

James and Sirius followed, placing themselves safely behind the solid frame of the gamekeeper while Peanut sprang inside from behind their legs, snuffling about the place with interest. The office was circular and dimly lit, with each corner featuring a set of various objects, whose application Sirius didn't even begin to guess, and whose exploring would probably make a really fine day. A claw-legged desk was placed in the centre and a small gallery of portraits, all of them currently sleeping, hung above, as if caught at a failed attempt to keep vigil over the hulking piece of furniture. Sirius didn't have a chance to note anything more as from the staircase situated opposite the entrance came the sound of footsteps. The Headmaster appeared mere seconds later, dressed in a brightly blue night dress scattered with silver stars and with a matching nightcap sitting askew on his head.

"Notice something funny about Hogwarts staff's after hours dress code?" Sirius muttered conspiratorially to his friend with hardly concealed awe. The image made quite an impression.

"Makes you wonder," James whispered, his tone deadly somber "What does McGonagall sleep in?"

Sirius snorted. Fortunately, the sound was drowned by Hagrid's nervous rant.

"Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry ter wake yeh, but these two came," Hagrid stepped aside and waved his hefty arm at them, almost swiping James right off his feet. "An' said they need a word with yeh, and it's not even September yet, an' that it's importan' an' can' wait-"

"That's quite all right, Hagrid," Dumbledore said lifting the palm of his hand in a placating gesture, his light-blue eyes fixed curiously on James and Sirius. "And what do I owe this, if you don't mind me saying, rather unexpected visit?"

"Er…" Sirius started for the second time this night, not sure where to begin and suddenly feeling uneasy under the piercing gaze.

"On second thought though," Dumbledore said mildly. "If you think that whatever it is you feel should become of my knowledge can wait another couple of minutes, I believe it would be a good idea to discuss it over a cup of hot chocolate."

"Um," Sirius mumbled. "Sure."

"Okay," added James, sounding every bit as awkward as Sirius felt.

Dumbledore smiled and winked, completely unfazed. "Excellent. I've always found night ventures to the kitchens most enjoyable."

* * *

James and Sirius were seated on a long bench aligning one of the walls, swaddled in thick lemon green blankets and with their hands wrapped around steaming mugs full of hot chocolate. Dumbledore had dried their clothes with a flick of his wand before they had left his office, which topped with the warming beverage and the additional cover provided by the soft fabric cloaked around their shoulders caused Sirius' shivers to finally subside.

He looked around the kitchen. The place was usually busy with elves scurrying around, supervising various pots and pans, things sizzling over fire or being mixed in gigantic bowls. Sirius remembered being struck by the cheerful commotion the first time the Marauders had sneaked into the kitchens in their second year. The sight of elves talking animatedly and giggling in those strange high-pitched voices had been such a difference from what he'd known of the creatures that he had stood dumbfounded long enough for James to bring back his attention with a well-aimed mint cupcake landing expertly on Sirius' forehead.

Now the place was quiet. The few elves who had initially popped in at their entrance had scuttled away. Probably at Dumbledore's request, Sirius mused, though he didn't hear the Headmaster say anything on the matter.

Dumbledore drew up a chair from the immerse working table and sat opposite them.

"Now that the immediate danger of a rather nasty case of pneumonia has been taken care of," he said brightly, his expression mild but examining. "Why don't you tell me what brings you to Hogwarts?"

Hagrid cleared his throat from his station near the back door they had entered through. It had proved to be a miracle on its own since the gamekeeper was twice the size of the small door. "I'll be in me hut if yeh need me, Professor."

"I'd very much like you to stay," Dumbledore replied and then turned his gaze on James and Sirius. "Unless there's anything you boys need to talk to me about in private."

James glanced at Sirius questioningly, a look that said: your murderous family, your call. Dumbledore followed this silent exchange and, Sirius somehow had no doubts, could see right through it.

Sirius shrugged, figured it settled things.

Dumbledore nodded. "I suggest you have a seat then, Hagrid."

The gamekeeper walked awkwardly as if in terror of destroying half the kitchen. Which probably wasn't all that unlikely. He grabbed a chair and sat some distance from them.

"You think you can tell me now?" Dumbledore asked looking straight at Sirius, his words gentle and encouraging.

Sirius bit his lip. Of all things, it was the Headmaster's patient kindness that threw him off guard. Suddenly there was a knot in his stomach and he could feel embarrassment colouring his cheeks. They weren't some strangers he'd come to talk about, people he had no more to do with than the last year's snow. No, they were his bloody family. There was anger lurking in that thought, a savage thing born out of shame and hurt and a bitter sense of injustice.

He closed his eyes, momentarily cutting himself off from the light blue that seemed to spy at his very soul. He wished James would answer, instead of sitting dumbly next to him, but knew his friend wasn't going to. It wasn't James' place to tell.

"I heard my father talk to my cousin about breaking into Hogwarts," he got out on a deep breath, making a point of meeting the Headmaster's eyes head-on. There was a challenge in his tone Sirius wouldn't have bothered controlling even if he knew how to.

James frowned at him with an expression of slight bewilderment, but Dumbledore only nodded, indicated for Sirius to continue.

So he did. He told the story of the night at Grimmauld Place and his later conversation with James with occasional interjections from his friend. He deliberately omitted the part in which an enchanted motorcycle had taken them to Hogwarts, not nearly naïve enough to believe that Dumbledore would not find out about it, but refusing to volunteer her for destruction either.

The Headmaster was quiet, listening with an unreadable face. Hagrid also refrained from letting out a single syllable, though a look at the gamekeeper told Sirius that it cost the giant quite a lot. Even Peanut stopped being his gamboling self as if sensing the pervading atmosphere of the room.

There was a moment of silence after Sirius had finished before Dumbledore said simply, "Thank you for telling me."

Somehow even the bright blue nightcap did nothing to alleviate the gravity in his words and Sirius thought briefly that it really said something about the kind of person Dumbledore was.

"You think it's that Dark wizard, don't you, Professor?" James blurted out, sending a somewhat apologetic glance at Sirius.

Sirius knew what his friend was thinking, couldn't blame James as he'd had the same sneaking inkling since the moment he'd taken the plunge under his father's desk. Maybe some time earlier, if he were to be honest with himself. There had been attacks, reports of Muggles being slaughtered in their houses during the last couple of months. The rumour had it the bodies bore sings of some really Dark Magic. However, since the victims had been Muggles, none of that had ever reached the public and James knew about the cases only from an overheard conversation between his parents, which he'd soon reported to the rest of the Marauders. The Department of Security, where his father worked, buzzed with contradictory theories, but from what James had been able to gather it seemed not much had been done to prove any of them.

Dumbledore gazed intently at James and Sirius thought he saw a small trace of surprise cross his wrinkled face. He couldn't be sure though as the next second it was gone.

"It's possible," The Headmaster said and for a moment looked as if debating with himself whether or not he should go on. "His name is Tom Riddle," he said finally, "but he calls himself Lord Voldemort."

"So it's true," James said, blinking as if the information needed some time to sink in. "He really does exist."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm afraid dark times are coming."

"But why Hogwarts?" James asked. "It's just a school."

"It's also a powerful symbol. Voldemort might want to seize that power and use it against all the values Hogwarts stands for. There are already people who follow him, those who believe that the wizarding world needs to be brought to its knees and purified. And their numbers are growing." Dumbledore was again looking at them with that piercing gaze, his expression solemn and his whole being radiating with silent power which, Sirius thought, wasn't that different from that of the castle itself. "If it's any consolation I and all Hogwarts staff will do anything that is within our power to protect the school."

Sirius' father had been right, all peculiarities aside, only a fool would underestimate the Hogwarts Headmaster.

But that brought another thought and Sirius had to swallow before asking. "Purify?"

Dumbledore sighed, a sound of a man who had been expecting the question but not looking forward to answering it. "Voldemort advocates the purity of magical community. I fear we are yet to see how far his hatred and drive for power will take him."

It all sounded too close to home for Sirius' liking. Literally. His mouth was suddenly desert dry, but he couldn't very well pretend the giant troll in the room did not exist.

"Professor, do you know if my," he started, trying to roll his tongue around the words and ignore how small they sounded. "I mean, if my father or any of them, are they-?"

"I don't," Dumbledore shook his head and Sirius was grateful to the Headmaster for stopping him before he could blabber any longer. He didn't risk a look at James, too afraid of what he could find in his friend's face.

"I want you to remember though," Dumbledore continued, "that we've all got our choices to make and you are not responsible for those of other people. You've made one tonight, coming here, which proves bravery and loyalty to what you believe in from both of you. You are not your family, Sirius, not an inch more than you choose to be."

Only it wasn't entirely true, was it? He couldn't wipe out the time he'd got to spend in Grimmauld Place any more than he could his last name. But Sirius nodded anyway, because what else was there to say?

"Now, to the other point then." Dumbledore clapped his hands in his lap, the mischievous twinkle appearing back in his eyes. "How exactly did the two of you manage to reach Hogwarts?"

* * *

The gloomy dawn was already breaking when they stumbled out of the fireplace into the Potters' large living room in the Potter Manor.

Sirius didn't have enough time to get his balance back when a figure of a very worried Mrs Potter appeared in the doorway, a wand in her hand.

"Professor? What's happened?" Her gaze jumped from Dumbledore to Sirius and then focused on James who currently looked as if he was searching for the shortest escape route out of the room. The sight must have tapped at something familiar because on Mrs Potter's forehead appeared a vertical wrinkle, one that James claimed was never a good sign.

"What in Merlin's name have these two done this time?" she asked eyeing them like a falcon.

Dumbledore chuckled, "I assure you, Euphemia, the boys haven't done anything wrong. Quite the opposite."

Mrs Potter judged them skeptically. "Any broken bones that need my immediate attention?"

"No, Mum, we're fine," James replied in a slightly suffering tone.

"I wouldn't be too sure it'll stay this way when I'm done with you. Professor, you'll stay for a cup of tea, will you? Merlin knows that with the Hogwarts Headmaster in my living room I'll probably need one."

"With pleasure," Dumbledore said with a mild smile.

"All right then. Let me just put something on. Please have a seat, I'll be right back."

Clad in a fluffy pink dressing gown, Mrs Potter came back levitating four cups of hot tea which she expertly placed on a small coffee table with a ringing clink. Sirius thought fleetingly it was a pity Dumbledore had decided to change into something more outdoors-appropriate, he had no doubt the Headmaster's blue night dress would have made an excellent completion of the situation.

"Fleamont's just left for work," Mrs Potter said as she took a seat in a brown armchair facing James and Sirius who were busy doing their very best to blend in with the flower-dotted sofa. They really needed to work on their disillusionment charms; if they'd got a Sickle on every occasion when those could have come in handy, they would probably have enough by now to buy a small Quidditch pitch.

Mrs Potter regarded James with an icy expression. "You mind telling me why you're Flooing into the living room at 5.30 in the morning instead of being in your bed like you're supposed to?"

It was James' turn to tell the story and Sirius was more than glad for it. Truth was the strain of the whole night started to catch up with him, leaving him tired and spent. He watched the alarm grow in Mrs Potter's face like from behind a thick pane of glass, hearing but not really listening to all the details Dumbledore supplied.

When they were finished, Mrs Potter's gaze flicked between James and Sirius. She looked more troubled than angry. And she looked her age too, something Sirius had never noticed about the sterner but always hearty half of James' parents. The image snapped him right back to the reality.

"I wish you had come to me or Fleamont rather than flew that Muggle thing of yours all the way to Hogwarts," she sighed, but there was no real reproach in her tone.

That, however, didn't change anything about the way James was staring into his laps, looking positively guilty.

Sirius wanted to say something, it was his bike after all, not to mention his crazy family. And through all the Hogwarts years he'd received nothing but kindness from both of James' parents. He'd fled his home more times than he could count, sometimes with his parents' knowing and sometimes without; most of the time they didn't seem to care. At least for as long as it hadn't ticked them that it was some psycho turf war they were determined to come out of on top. Sirius had usually ended up camping in James' room, acted like a right prat for the most part, wrecking havoc and breaking things, scavenging from the Potters' fridge and never hearing more than an offer of another helping in return.

"What will happen to her?" was what he got out in the end.

Mrs Potter's expression grew confused, but if the change in topic and strange choice of pronouns surprised Dumbledore, the old wizard did nothing to show it. "I'm afraid the motorcycle as an unregistered enchanted Muggle artifact, with the enchanter still underage, cannot be returned to you. Quite an impressive set of charms you put on her I must say. Fascinating really. I imagine Professor Flitwick would be delighted."

"Oh. And, er, thanks," Sirius mumbled only then realizing that the Headmaster hadn't really answered his question.

"Euphemia, I believe I've taken enough of your time. Regardless the circumstances, it's been most pleasant to see you," Dumbledore said standing up.

"Likewise, Professor."

"Albus, please. It's been years since I was your teacher."

"Years indeed," she smiled. "Thank you for bringing these two. I'll send an owl if Fleamont hears anything."

"I'll be most obliged," Dumbledore tipped his temple and then Disapparated with a pop.

Mrs Potter fixed James and Sirius with a hard stare and they both shifted under the unspoken weight of it. After a long minute, apparently having found their groveling satisfactory enough for the time being, she said, "You must be hungry."

James instantly perked up at the mention of food. "Starving, Mum, really."

The glare he received made it clear that he most definitely wasn't off the hook yet.

"Oh, right, I promise I'll change into the sackcloth right after breakfast. That is, face my well-deserved and perfectly reasonable punishment," he added quickly when Mrs Potter's expression grew an impossible few notches harder.

Sirius glanced at the rapidly brightening day. "I should get going."

"You're welcome to stay," Mrs Potter replied. "It's only a week until the start of the term anyway. Fleamont and I can pick up your things later today. Besides, it's not like James is going to be able to leave these walls during that time, he could probably use some company."

"See?" James' expression was a bizarre combination of misery and hopefulness. "You just can't go. Not when it's my sanity that's on a knife-edge."

"And there I was, thinking that lost causes were Hufflepuffs' domain," Sirius smirked.

He wanted to stay. Badly. Best case scenario and he wouldn't have to see his crazy family till another summer. But there was no telling if his parents were going to wait that long, not in the mood they were about him lately.

"Thanks," he sighed and couldn't quite hide the dejection echoing in his voice, "but I think it's better if I just go. I'll sneak in, it'll be like I never even left."

"You sure, mate?"

James' tone was worried, his face earnest and somehow it just struck all the wrong chords with Sirius. He felt the old anger stir somewhere deep inside and wanted to snap at his friend; he'd spent sixteen years in that place, sure another week wouldn't do much difference. But the fury rushed in and out, and all that was left was a bone-deep weariness.

So he just nodded instead, "Yeah."

"Right then," Mrs Potter appeared as unhappy as Sirius felt. "I'll Apparate you to your house."

"Thanks," he mumbled and reached for Mrs Potter's offered arm.

They appeared at the corner of a mist-veiled street and he could see James' mum squinting towards where number twelve was concealed.

"I can still go and talk to your parents," she said and, pink dressing gown or not, Mrs Potter was not a woman you'd like to cross. "Merlin knows, I've been dying to for some time now."

"Um," Sirius stumbled over the words, "I really don't think it's such a good idea."

She sighed, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and Sirius had to steel himself not to recoil at the unexpected touch.

"Listen to me, Sirius," she said sounding unusually solemn. "I want you to know that you can come or you can send an owl or Floo us whenever you need anything. Not just James but Fleamont and me as well. Our door's open, you understand?"

Sirius felt his throat constrict, he nodded, not even able to choke out a 'thank you'.

"Good then," Mrs Potter put her hand briefly on his cheek. "See you on King's Cross."

Another nod and then she was gone.

Sirius took a deep breath and headed towards number twelve.

* * *

He should have known it all seemed too bloody perfect.

Basically, there were two ways to enter his room through the window without a broom, both of them tricky at best, and Sirius generally tried to avoid them as much as possible. One involved climbing to the highest landing in number eleven and then balancing on an ornamental ledge leading to the sill of Regulus' window, which was situated at the farthest side of the building. The ledge wasn't exactly wide, but it wasn't nauseatingly narrow either. For obvious reasons, though, this way was only viable with the little prat out of the house, making Sirius use it only twice. The other required reaching the roof of number twelve, from either side, and then crawling down the slanting surface, stopping at the dormer of his room and swinging himself inside, all that while watching for loose slates and slippery areas. Pondering the impressive range of possibilities how that could end up in him breaking his neck, Sirius usually went for the old school Marauder sneakiness and doors.

With the bleak day rising above Grimmauld Place though, he'd figured walking through the whole house was far more than pushing it. He'd climbed to the roof and then lowered himself to his room with a fair amount of gasping but without any serious mishaps. He stood motionless for a good couple of minutes, trying very hard to hear anything that might portend trouble over his heaving chest. He waited, breathing in the musty smell that always seemed to linger in this place as if something had died and gone rotten within the walls. For all Sirius knew it very well might have. When nothing happened, he let himself sag on the bed, a cold relief washing over him. Then in his room appeared Kreacher and all Hell broke loose.

"He's here, Mistress!" The way the elf screeched, you'd think the wildest of his dreams had just come true. "Kreacher knew he heard something, Kreacher found him!"

And with that the elf was gone.

Sirius had enough time to consider taking the route he'd just come, only in the opposite direction, when the door slammed open against the wall with a sickening thud. Sirius jumped and would have probably felt embarrassed if it wasn't for his mother dashing towards him, her sharp gaunt face contorted with rage.

"Here you are, you ungrateful brat!"

"Sounds like you missed me, Mother." He tried to employ his standard flippant tone, all too aware he was missing it by a mile.

Walburga didn't seem to even hear him. She hurtled forward, grabbed his arm and shook, the sheer fury in the gesture taking Sirius by surprise.

"How did you get inside the house?" Of all the things she could be yelling about.

Sirius could feel her sour breath on his face and he attempted a hesitant step backwards, but she was holding him in a dead grip, wearing an expression of savage insanity that stunned him, even when every fibre in his body screamed at him to flee, to just move his suddenly uncooperative limbs and get the hell out of here.

"I asked you a question, you pathetic excuse for a son! How did you get inside the house?!"

Sirius caught the sight of Regulus in the doorway. His brother was standing with his eyes huge like Quaffles and staring dumbly at the scene inside. Like it was a bloody play and he'd got lucky enough to have a first-row ticket. Sirius wanted to shake him rotten, but all he could do was stare back.

Walburga's claws tightened around Sirius' arm and she jolted him again and it hurt. And it was bloody ridiculous too, because he wasn't a kid anymore and had no intention of being her ragdoll.

"Get off me, you psycho hag!" Sirius roared, finally finding his voice, even if it was trembling dangerously. He jerked away with a force that made his mother lose her balance and reel backwards a few drunken steps.

Next thing he knew, Walburga's wand was out and he was diving behind his bed and conjuring a shield against whatever hex she threw at him. He was vaguely aware of somebody screaming in the background, but couldn't say if it was his mother continuing her insults, or Regulus, or maybe even Kreacher. Sirius managed to deflect the spell and send his own half-hearted attempt at _Stupefy_ in return, aimed somewhere roughly at the ceiling. A huge piece of plaster together with a chandelier collapsed on the floor, shattering to pieces with a stomach-turning bang.

Then another bellow cut through the room and Sirius realized who the voice belonged to only when he felt his wand being snapped from his fingers and fly in a sure arch to an outstretched hand of Orion Black.

Suddenly it was quiet. Even Walburga didn't let out a sound.

"Stand up, Sirius," his father commanded in his most dangerous tone. Sirius didn't even think of disobeying.

Orion covered the distance between the two of them in three swift strides, his black robes swishing with the movement, and it was all Sirius could do not to flinch. He was struck by the crazy realization that none of his family were wearing a nightgown, and just how bloody cracked was that at six in the morning? Then his father's open hand landed on his cheek with the force that made Sirius stumble backwards. He tripped over the bed and had to prop himself against the wall not to keel over, hated the way his palm instinctively floated to the angry heat in his face before he could catch it.

His father just stood there, looming above and looking down on him like Sirius was a particularly disgusting vermin Orion couldn't decide if he should step on. The bastard's wand wasn't even out anymore and that, more than anything, caused the burning sensation in Sirius' throat.

His father wanted to humiliate him.

"You've been a disgrace to this house long enough," Orion said, his voice final, the sound of wet soil hitting a coffin. "But this will end."

Sirius looked into Orion's pale grey eyes, the same eyes that stared at him accusingly every time he passed a mirror. A small part of his brain, one that always sounded eerily like Remus, demanded that he just let it go, that he would get himself killed if he didn't. But the years-old rage flared brighter and reached farther than any coherent thought ever might.

"What will end?" Sirius cried and didn't care that he sounded desperate, that the words came out all shaky and jagged. "Because if you think that I'll just suddenly sing along to all your bloody nonsense, you must be more delusional than I thought. And that's saying something."

Orion's expression didn't change, but there was no mistaking the cold promise in the words when he spoke, "It will end. Either by your doing or by mine."

And with that he turned around and left, followed by Walburga who, uncannily, remained quiet. The last thing Sirius saw before the door shut behind them were Regulus' eyes. His brother, who Sirius had teased mercilessly when they were kids, to the point that had the little twit running to their mother with tears of frustration in his eyes, knowing full well that Blacks, even those six years old, were not allowed to cry. His brother, in whose defense Sirius had once broken a jaw of some particularly nasty Muggle boy and with whom he had orchestrated a memorable raid on Christmas sweets guarded by Kreacher and then stuffed themselves sick with their prize. His brother, in whose room Sirius had recently found a shrine made out of ghastly newspaper clippings and who had just watched voicelessly Sirius being slapped across the face by their father.

Regulus' eyes were boring into his with millions of things Sirius had no idea what to make of.


	3. The Duel on the Hogwarts Express

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should've said it earlier. A huge shout out to malna for her continued support and just general awesomeness.

The last week of summer dragged on mercilessly and if Sirius didn't know any better he would swear his parents had used some sort of trick to prolong his sufferings. He was barely allowed to leave his room and by the end of the week, he was on the verge of peeling his eyes out just to rid himself of the view. During that time Orion had come once, one day after Sirius' return from Hogwarts. A jeering combination of satisfaction and disdain had curved his father's features at the alert Sirius couldn't quite hide. Orion had secured the window in his room without a word and he had taken his time too. Sirius was sure it was all part of his father's game, but it didn't change anything about how acutely aware he was of the lack of his wand. Later on he surveyed Orion's work. He wasn't really surprised that his father had put wards against any magical intervention, be it from the inside or outside, but entirely discounted the fact that sometimes a well-aimed stone could do as much damage as a spell. Sirius had a half mind to sneak out again, make a statement out of it. He even planned on leaving a happy note commenting on the quality of his father's work, but in the end he didn't dare.

In the early morning of September 1st Sirius threw his belongings into his trunk, put on his Muggle leather jacket and determinedly stomped down the stairs. Folded in the back pocket of his jeans was a list of books he was required to have this term, but only half of them sat in his trunk. He didn't much care one way or another, figured he could probably owl-order them anyway, while bringing it up with his parents seemed not only pointless but also far too much of an admission.

He didn't try to be silent and was gratified by his mother meeting him in the hall downstairs.

"Where do you think you're going? In that despicable garment, no less! The disgrace you bring on this house!"

Seemed like Walburga was as sick of silence as Sirius was.

"It's the first. Make a guess. You're going to give me back my wand or do I have to go look for it myself? We could probably get Regulus to chant cold and hot, have a little family get-together. Maybe even do some elf-haunting afterwards. I'd say the staircase decoration's getting a tad old."

Sirius watched, not without satisfaction, his mother's face grow purple in fury.

"How dare you? You abomination! You Muggle-loving scum! You filthy blood traitor! I cannot believe the shame I brought you to this world."

"Well, that makes two of us, Mother. My wand?" he pressed, barely able to contain his own rage.

Sirius could see a fight going on in his mother's head and he knew he had won even before Walburga opened her mouth to respond. A wand wasn't just any other magical object, a wizard without one was as good as a Muggle. Despite how excellent a punishment it would make, his family's concern for their public image ran too deep to let a Black walk around wandless, especially since Sirius wasn't very likely to keep quiet about it. And shame, as he knew, was not something his mother took lightly.

"Kreacher!" she screeched and in a second the elf appeared in the hallway.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Bring Sirius his wand. Make sure he doesn't stop by the kitchen on his way out," she said maliciously and, without waiting for the elf to execute the order, marched away from the hall.

Sirius almost laughed. He could swear that with each summer his dear mum was getting more and more demented. Next time around she was going to deny him soap in the bathroom or something equally ridiculous.

Kreacher disappeared and was back in a blink of an eye.

"Young master's wand," he said as he handed Sirius the polished black piece of wood, retreating two steps as if disgusted by the proximity and adding under his breath, "Nasty little blood traitor, shame of my mistress' flesh, off with him."

"You know, I've just discussed redecorating staircase with my mother," Sirius said in a dry tone, drawing to his full height. "I bet your ugly snout would fit right in."

It did the trick; Kreacher muttered something indistinguishable, which Sirius had no doubt consisted of more insults, and disappeared.

Sirius walked down the rest of the way to the door. He thought he knew exactly what prisoners must feel like getting out of jail after years of lockout. During those long summer months it had sometimes seemed to him that this moment would never come, that the bleak walls of the Grimmauld Place had finally closed in on him, effectively cutting him off from the mirage of another life, one that was made out of laughter and silly pranks and things he cared so much about it sometimes scared him. But there he was, leaving, going back to Hogwarts and away from this hellhole of a house for the full ten months, and all he could find in himself was white hot anger. Never mind, he told himself as the door shut behind him and the cool morning air tickled his cheeks, it was nothing he couldn't fix with a good broom ride and a couple of well-planted dungbombs.

Besides, it did cross his mind that with Orion nowhere to be seen, Sirius had probably got off lightly.

* * *

When he reached it, the Platform 9 and ¾ was still almost empty. A couple of clearly Muggle parents with kids who would most probably reinforce the bunch of first-years wandered about the place uncertainly, gaping at the surroundings as if they still hadn't quite overcome the trouble of believing them to be true. The Hogwarts Express was already waiting, but the departure was due in over two hours.

Sirius was about to board the train, maybe go looking for the Honeydukes Express as his stomach kept rumbling insistently, reminding him of the missed breakfast, when a familiar gruff voice called from behind, as if on cue:

"You keep hunching like that, boy, people might take you for the trolley witch."

Sirius turned around to see his uncle Alphard, standing in the spot shadowed by a pillar. It had been empty just a second ago, but no sound of Apparition had reached Sirius' ears. Rumour had it that in his youth Alphard had been an Unspeakable and it was in moments like these Sirius was inclined to believe it. What his uncle did now, nobody could tell for sure.

Sirius walked swiftly towards Alphard. His uncle was wearing a plain grey robe but with the regal way he held himself he couldn't possibly fool anyone. It was something Sirius had noticed about all of his relatives: despite how obnoxious they were, there was always an air of royalty about them, subtle things in the way they spoke and walked, and sat and looked, as if expecting the world to bow before them. Sirius sometimes wondered if he was the same but couldn't think of a way to find out that wouldn't involve asking anybody. As he drew closer, he noticed that Alphard's dark hair tied at the back of his neck was entwined with whispers of white and his stern features bore signs of fatigue Sirius didn't recall seeing on him before.

"Uncle?"

"And what in Merlin's name is that ugly rag you've put on yourself?" his uncle continued in a brusque voice, as if Sirius hadn't said a word.

Sirius felt a smile crease the corners of his mouth. His jacket was proving to be the best spent five Galleons ever. "Becoming, isn't it? Not to mention how spectacular it looked with the motorcycle I put together over the summer. You should've seen her, she was a thing of beauty."

"Making good of your holidays, I see?" Alphard asked drily.

Sirius couldn't help a snort. "Try doing my best not to go completely mental and curse the lot of them in their sleep."

He knew there was no need to explain who exactly he had in mind, not with Alphard, not when his uncle knew first-hand how deep the Black insanity ran.

"Well, did it work?"

Sirius thought about his mother and him throwing hexes in his bedroom, figured a charm hitting the ceiling did not really count. "I suppose you could say that."

Alphard raised one of his eyebrows but didn't ask. He always seemed to know more than he was letting on. It reminded Sirius of Dumbledore and even when he thought it, he knew he would never voice it out. But the idea of his uncle grimacing at the comparison with the jaunty Headmaster and his Liquorice Shrimps and star-strewn nightdresses still made it hard to chew back a chuckle.

"You're early."

It wasn't a question, but Sirius still felt a need to reply. "Just catching some fresh air before the ride. Stretching my legs." Sirius scratched the back of his head, readjusted his grip on the trunk. "Um, Uncle? Not that I'm not happy to see you but aren't you a bit old for a Hogwarts trip?"

One corner of Alphard's mouth twisted in a lopsided half-smile, a grimace of a man not used to the countenance. "Sadly. Say, boy, how is my lovely sister these days?"

"Is that a trick question?"

Impossibly, Alphard's smile grew a notch wider, but this time it bore no resemblance to cheerfulness. It was a steely thing that Sirius thought you could see over the tip of a drawn wand, the kind of smile that sent an icy jolt up the spine.

"Before all this is over I think I just might find the courtesy to pay old Walburga a visit," Alphard said, voice matching his expression.

On every other occasion Sirius would jump at the idea. Even his father tended to lose his stride with Alphard in the same room and that was not a sight Sirius would ever want to miss. But something was wrong, and if it hadn't been obvious the moment he'd seen his uncle at the King's Cross of all places, Alphard's words had surely brought it home.

"Before all this is over?" Sirius echoed.

Alphard seized him up and Sirius felt he might buckle under that stare alone. "You're not going to be able to reach me for a while, Sirius."

He blinked, the use of his first name striking him as the one most bizarre element of the whole situation. His uncle addressed him as _boy_ or _child_ , sometimes even _lad_ when he felt particularly generous, but never went for his birth name. Besides, it wasn't even like Sirius exchanged regular correspondence with his uncle. You didn't write about the last Quidditch game or a particularly successful prank to a person like Alphard. It just wasn't a thing you did.

"There's been quite a lot of stirring lately and there are matters, personal matters," Alphard looked pointedly at Sirius, "that need taking care of if the Black name is ever to evoke anything but contempt. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sirius thought it was a lost cause but nodded anyway, "Yes, I think I do."

"Good. I want you to keep your head down and your eyes open. Don't return to Grimmauld Place for Christmas if you can help it."

"Is it because of Voldemort? Of what he's doing?"

Alphard's eyes narrowed and his voice sounded dangerous when he said, "Be careful in whose company you pronounce this name, boy. I know Gryffindors aren't known for their wits but nothing kills you faster than your own foolishness."

"I'm not scared of the name."

"But you will be of what it stands for."

Sirius huffed at the implication but didn't argue, not with his uncle so grave about the matter. "So, does that mean that my parents are in for it?"

Alphard gave him a long look Sirius couldn't quite decipher before answering. "My sister's last semblance of lucidity died a long time ago and the only thing she has for herself is the name. But, mind you, only an idiot would underestimate the power the word Black still holds in certain circles. Orion, however, is far from a fool. Your parents are playing a dangerous game, but I can't say for certain if they fully realize how far it may take them."

"Last week," Sirius blurted out, "I heard Father talk to Bellatrix about breaking into Hogwarts. Dumbledore thinks it might be Voldemort all along."

"Dumbledore?" Both of Alphard's brows soared up his forehead.

"Yeah. We, I mean James and I, went to tell him."

His uncle's expression grew from shock to bewilderment. He shook his head, blew out a small laugh, a sight rare enough for Sirius to blink disbelievingly.

"I'm afraid you're beyond any help, boy. Did anyone see you?"

"Hagrid did. But Dumbledore trusts him."

"Trusts you say," Alphard repeated as if checking the shape of the word in his mouth and finding it unwelcome. But whatever he thought he didn't say and Sirius was glad of it. "Get on the train now."

"What about you?"

"Don't expect me to carry your trunk."

Apparently, it was all the answer he was going to get. Sirius shook his head. "Not until trolls decide weaving wreaths is an excellent pastime."

That earned him another half-smile from his uncle. Must be a new record.

"I said go, boy. It's going to get crowded soon," Alphard said and it sounded almost gentle.

It was still early and passengers weren't likely to file in the platform for at least another hour, but Sirius nodded anyway. He turned around and went, didn't need to look back to know Alphard was gone. Why had his uncle come in the first place? To tell Sirius to watch out? To warn him against his parents? It wasn't exactly news to him, or in fact anyone in the wizarding world, that the Blacks had a special fondness for the Dark Arts. And then there were all those mad bills advocating legalizing Muggle hunting, bleeding half-bloods as a pandemic precaution, building places of seclusion for Squibs, the list went on and on. If what Dumbledore had said was true, it was no surprise his family would support Voldemort. What was the point then?

Sirius boarded the train, a whirlwind of thoughts rampaging in his head.

* * *

He must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, the train was buzzing with the presence of students. The peek outside the window told him they were about to depart as the only people left on the platform were adults or very small, still pre-Hogwarts children. Some of the older wizards and witches were waving at the train and Sirius caught the sight of a couple of them wiping away wetness in the corners of their eyes.

Sirius had seated himself in a compartment near the rear and so far no one had joined him. His friends must already be somewhere on the train, though. He stood up, got his trunk from the luggage rack and headed out. He didn't even manage to slide the door shut behind himself all the way when a loud whistle blew in the carriages and moments later the train jerked forward, making Sirius momentarily lose his balance. He threaded up the corridor, exchanging hi's with some of the late-comers who still struggled with their trunks in search of a place to sit. The glass-panelled doors of the compartments showed glimpses of long-awaited reunions. A couple of cats strutted around his legs and Sirius had to be careful not to step on any of them. He heard an ear piercing screech when someone had failed to do the same.

He edged in this manner past four carriages, sometimes stopping for a short chat or to peek inside a compartment, looking for familiar faces. The fifth carriage, however, welcomed him with an entirely different noises. The happy commotion was gone and the sudden contrast was so striking that Sirius had to stamp down on the urge to turn around and check if he hadn't accidentally stepped through any magically altered mirrors. He could clearly hear the sounds of a fight. The door to one of the compartments in front was open and the shouted spells didn't leave any room for doubts. Sirius took out his wand. He could see a few faces lurking from behind the curtains of the compartments, but no one seemed too eager to interrupt. Then one voice reached over the others, a familiar timbre hollering _Expelliarmus_.

Remus.

Sirius dropped his trunk and dashed to the compartment. Just in time to petrify Mulciber whose wand was directed at James. The boy fell forward, a spell never getting past his mouth.

"Black!" Avery turned around to see who had knocked out Mulciber and Sirius had just enough time to notice that Avery's hands were empty before a spell hit the Slytherin and Avery lay flat on the floor.

"Starting the fun without me I see," Sirius said with a grin, sending a hex at Macnair, but the seven-year bounced it off easily. "You wound me, my friends."

James, Remus and Peter were grouped against the window of the compartment and Sirius could see James' trunk and a cage with his owl waiting on one of the seats. It was enough of an indication of who had started the fight and Sirius supposed that if he looked carefully enough he would find Remus' and Peter's stuff tucked safely on luggage racks. A group of five Slytherins were standing closer to the entry, effectively blocking it. Even with Mulciber and Avery down, there were still Snape, Rosier and Macnair, both seven-years, and two four-years whose names Sirius didn't know. The numbers and the company told Sirius all he needed to know: it was no heat-of-the-moment duel.

"Sirius!" Peter shouted, firing a hex in the general direction of Snape but getting distracted and missing badly.

"Sorry to be the one to break the news but it seems like Snivellus here," James's spell followed Peter's as if to demonstrate his point, "was too bouncy to mind your absence."

"Besides," Remus added in an eerily calm voice, "waiting would've only encouraged your already too big ego."

"We need room to sleep, you understand," James added and jumped sidelong, barely avoiding Rosier's hex.

"Playing a weasel, Potter?" Snape hissed and positioned himself to send another spell.

Remus shouted _Stupefy_ at him, but it was deflected by Rosier. Fortunately, it was enough to catch the older boy's attention and let Peter's _Flippendo_ through his defenses. Rosier tottered backwards, right at Sirius, and Sirius snatched the older boy's wand from his fingers, tripping him over and sending the Pimple Jinx for good measure.

Peter screamed when one of Snape's spells reached him. James immediately sent his response, which made Snape topple over. In the meantime though, the four-years revived Mulciber and Avery. Rosier was back on his feet too, his face covered with angry boils, which apparently didn't do much in terms of lessening his determination to kill Sirius with his bare hands. Sirius ducked Macnair's spell by an inch and fired an _Impedimenta_ he knew would miss its target even before the word left his mouth. Next thing he knew he was hit with the Pushing Hex and made a somersault in the air before flying right through the door to the opposite compartment. The fall knocked all the wind out of him and he would have trouble gathering himself to his feet even if he could tell which way was up.

"Who are these if not slimy Slytherins?" Sirius knew this voice, but in his fuzzy brain he couldn't find a face to match it with.

"Seven against four, quintessence of the snakes' refined style," a female timbre joined in. "What do you say we even up the odds?"

"Or maybe seven to six is much less to your liking? Then I suggest you crawl back to whatever hole you slithered from."

"It's not over," Macnair seethed in response and if only his head would stop spinning and the walls around would stop tilting, Sirius would have laughed at the six-year-old threat.

Before he knew somebody was helping him to his feet.

"No limbs missing. Come on, Black, up" Claudia Spinnigham, a seven-year Gryffindor, his fellow beater and one of the scariest players Sirius had ever seen on the Quidditch pitch was patting him good-naturedly on an arm. "Merlin, with how thick your head sometimes seems, I really thought it would've been harder to knock you out."

"You all right, Black?" asked Corvin Moth, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was his voice that Sirius hadn't recognized earlier.

"In the gentle and caring hands of Spinningham? Who wouldn't be? Ouch!" Sirius added when Claudia slapped him in the back of his head.

"Nice timing," James said grinning at the two seven-years.

"Bloody Slytherins," Corvin fumed. "All brave when there's only four of you. You seen them scurrying away with their tails between their legs? I swear I have half a mind to go after them."

"Three, to be exact," James scratched the back of his head making his hair impossibly messier. "Sirius has just showed up."

"Popped in and out, Black, eh?" Claudia threw in with a smug smile.

"Um, guys," Remus said before Sirius had enough time to open his mouth. "Looks like Peter's been hit with something nasty."

They all turned their heads at that. Peter was sitting on a bench, posture slumped and face ghost white, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Peter?" James said approaching the smaller boy. "You fine?"

"Do me a favour and ask me that again when my heart stops insisting on jumping right out of my chest," Peter said with a small smile, but from the set of his jaw it was clear he was in pain.

"Peter," Remus pressed in a tone that clearly stated joking time was over.

"Okay," Peter breathed out, "so I think not."

Only now did Sirius realize that Peter's left hand was tightly woven around his right shoulder.

"Peter?" he said and the boy turned to look at him, then followed Sirius' gaze to his own shoulder. When he lifted it, his hand was covered in blood just like the fabric of his robes and the sight made him go a few shades whiter.

"I'll go see if I can find somebody who might help," Claudia said, all humour instantly gone.

Remus crouched down next to James looking at Peter with a worried look.

"Did you hear what hit you?" he asked.

Peter shrugged and winced at the movement. He shook his head. "Too much going on."

"That greasy little git," Sirius hissed. He belatedly realized he was gripping his wand in his jacket pocket.

"Padfoot?" James frowned.

"Sirius," Remus said at the same time, "if you think about-"

But whatever it was that Remus wanted to say, Sirius had no intention of listening. All he could think about was Peter's tight set of jaw and crimson droplets rolling down his friend's trembling fingers. Ignoring the apprehensive glances, he stormed out of the compartment and marched up the narrow corridors in the direction where the Slytherins had disappeared before a while.

He heard Mulciber first. The twit's cackle resounded loud and clear two carriages away and somehow Sirius had no doubt as to what had caused all that jollity. Something cold set in the pit of his stomach, a vicious purpose to smack that sound clear off the bastard's ugly mug. The door to the compartment was slightly ajar and Sirius yanked it forcefully open. Inside, predictably, were Mulciber, Avery and Snape, accompanied by the two four-years that had jumped James, Remus and Peter earlier. The mirth died out instantly like a blown candle, the last vestiges of cheerfulness frozen ridiculously on the Slytherins' faces.

Avery was first to snap out of the shock. "Where are your friends, Black? You came for some more- Oh, bloody hell!"

Sirius didn't listen. The moment his eyes lay on the familiar pallid face he dashed across the compartment and threw a fist straight into Snape's face.

"You like ambushing people, huh, Snivellus?" he yelled and jolted Snape by the front of his robes. "Cosy, isn't it, practicing your slimy curses while cowering behind other people's backs?"

There was blood on Snape's face and Sirius felt a sudden surge of satisfaction at the fear he saw in the other boy's eyes. Served the greasy git just right. Sirius took another swing when a familiar voice sounded in the compartment.

" _Petrificus Totalus_!"

Sirius turned to see Avery fall to the floor paralyzed, wand in hand. James and Corvin stood at the door to the compartment, both in dueling stances.

"Just give me a reason," Corvin said to the other three, his tone suggesting he would want nothing more than that.

Snape used the moment of distraction to push Sirius away and wriggle out of his grip. Sirius stumbled backwards and saw Snape reaching for his wand, right when another voice boomed in the compartment.

"Wands down, now! Anybody thinks about throwing one more hex and I'll jinx you myself."

Corvin and James moved out of the way instantly. Looming in the entry, clad in plain dark robes was a tall middle-aged man. It was rare but not unheard of for someone other than students to travel by Hogwarts Express. Usually it would be one of the members of Hogwarts staff, once even a loud-sneezing Madame Pudifoot, who after a visit to London was too sick to Apparate back to Hogsmede and claimed to suffer from a serious soot allergy that made Floo travels impossible.

The man's severe weathered face didn't ring any bells. His straw blonde hair was cut short to the skull everywhere apart from the back where it was plaited in a thin braid. He had at least two day's worth of stubble, an obtrusive scar cutting through his right eyebrow ridge and an icy-cold stare of bloodshot eyes that seemed to fix everybody to their places.

"Yeah? And who are you?" Mulciber spat, but Sirius was glad to notice it wasn't without a hint of trepidation in his voice.

"Ignatius Griffin, your new DADA teacher," he said pointedly. "Now, anybody care to explain why this boy's face is covered in blood and the other one lies petrified on the floor?"

"It's Black," Mulciber said pointing at Sirius who could swear he saw Griffin give a minuscule frown at the name. "He's finally lost his marbles. He stormed in here like a rabid dog and started throwing punches."

"Not nearly enough, if you ask me," Corvin muttered.

Griffin dealt Corvin a sharp gaze, which instantly clammed him up.

"Is that true?" he asked looking at Sirius.

"The greasy git had it coming."

"But they jumped them!" Corvin butted in before Griffin could say anything. "Earlier on. These five here, and Rosier and Macnair. Pettigrew got hit and he's bleeding and it looks rather bad."

To Sirius' surprise none of the Slytherins protested, but then he saw a glint of satisfaction in Mulciber's face and barely held himself in place.

Griffin studied them for a second. "Your Heads of houses will be informed of this."

He _Rennervated_ Avery and with a quick flick of his wand cleaned the blood from Snape's face.

"I don't want to hear of any other incidents during the journey," he said looking sharply at everyone present. "Now, show me to your friend," he ordered turning to Corvin.

They threaded their way back to the compartment followed by curious glances of other students, Corvin leading the way and James with Sirius bringing up the rear.

Peter was in the same position they had left him, his teeth gritted and his left hand gripping his shoulder. Griffin came closer and knelt on one knee in front of him.

"What's your name?"

"Peter Pettigrew," Peter said, the words clumsy and tensed with pain.

"I'm Ignatius Griffin, your new DADA teacher. I need to see your shoulder, Peter."

Peter nodded and as he removed his shaky hand from the wound Sirius had to mentally stomp on the sudden flare to turn back and finish what he'd started.

"We don't know what curse it was, we didn't hear," Remus offered and Griffin nodded in his direction.

He took out his wand and muttered some spells Sirius couldn't hear and in a few seconds the sickening paleness seemed to ebb away from Peter's face. For a moment Sirius thought he was imagining it but then James shifted next to him and made a few impatient steps towards Peter.

"Wormtail?"

"He should be all right," Griffin answered before Peter found his voice. "Make sure he stops by the Hospital Wing when we reach Hogwarts."

"But, sir, you said-"

"Just in case," Griffin cut James off. "A severing curse, most likely," he added indicating Peter's still slumped figure. "I closed the wound but a double-check can't hurt."

"I couldn't find anybo- Oh," Claudia went bustling into the compartment, her gaze instantly stopping on Griffin.

"It's all right," Remus answered. "Peter's okay."

"Thanks," Peter muttered as if suddenly remembering it was a thing to say, shifting in his seat and looking utterly uncomfortable with all the attention. He was no longer gripping his shoulder and the torn stained fabric loomed conspicuously on his school robes.

Griffin straightened up, his bloodshot eyes seizing up everybody in the compartment stopping on James, Corvin and Sirius. "I'd hate to repeat myself."

"No further incidents, professor. Got it," James said as his hand shot upwards in a mock salute but ceased midway under the weight of Griffin's gaze.

Griffin left to wherever it was he had been spending the journey, mumbling something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like a disgruntled _'kids'_. He was promptly followed by Claudia and Corvin, who, having tossed around a couple more expletives that gave away more than a hint as to what exactly they thought about snakes in general, ventured out in search of the Honeydukes Express. As soon as the door behind them slid shut Sirius collapsed on the bench with a loud growl.

"Bloody Slytherins. I swear, Snivellus has just got himself a front row ticket to one hell of a school year."

Remus arched an eyebrow at him but didn't comment. Instead he turned to Peter. "All right, Pete?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Peter said picking at the loose threads left by the hex. Sirius could see that his hands were still shaking slightly. "Seems like my school robes just got a little airy, 's all."

"Don't worry, Wormtail," James said as he slumped down next to him, clapping Peter on the thigh. "First trip to Hogsmeade, we're gonna find you the biggest, most atrocious Kitten-shaped patch we can get."

"So what happened?" Sirius asked.

James shrugged, "Nothing much, really. They showed up, going on about blood traitors and all the filth Dumbledore lets in the school. You came short after."

"Is it just me or everybody got awfully one-track minded recently?" Sirius grumbled.

"What do you mean?" James asked.

Sirius sighed, ignored his friend's question. "You told them yet?" he asked tilting his head at Remus and Peter, not really in a mood to care about niceties.

James frowned without comprehension. Sirius rolled his eyes, could see when it dawned on James.

"Yeah, that, genius," Sirius said with a pinch of exasperation. "Well, did you?"

"I didn't know I was supposed to," James said warily, his brows knitted behind his square glasses. "Wait, you think that-?"

Sirius nodded. "The snakes did seem awfully full of themselves, and I mean more than usual. All this talking about brewing darkness and blood purity, it's just that recently it's got more… intense."

Sirius couldn't do much about the grimace that crossed his face, could see in Remus' narrowed eyes his friend was reading more into it than Sirius would be willing to let out. Both him and Peter were listening to this exchange quietly.

"I'll get my trunk. Tell them," Sirius threw at James and gathered himself to his feet.

When he came back, James was half through the story. Sirius sat down, let his friend finish.

It was odd to listen to James talking about Grimmauld Place. It wasn't exactly news that his family was insane. After all, it was out there in the open for everyone to see. Sympathizing with blood supremacists, uncanny fondness for the Dark Arts, and the general need to express to the world their crazy stuck-upness weren't that hard to miss. And it was still without them aiding their already colourful profile with cracked howlers or Sirius winding up camping at the Potters'. He'd never even tried to make reasons behind it a secret but neither had he gone into details. James knew some, probably guessed at even more, but Remus and Peter were mostly drifting on the surface of blood obsession and muggle-hating. Sirius could see how those empty catchwords were beginning to take shape in his friends' minds in Remus' concerned frown and Peter's nervous shifting, and he didn't like it one bit.

At some point throughout the tale though, Sirius found his anger simmer down to a steady background murmur. He wanted to kindle it back, wanted the fire to go rampant so that he wouldn't have to pay attention to anything else. A voice in his head, the one that always sounded way too much like Remus to portend anything even remotely fun, told him that it was pointless, really. Kept asking in that infuriatingly reasonable way of his how long he could rage about something he had so little say in.

"Dark times are coming, that's what Dumbledore said," James mused when he was over. He turned to Sirius, "You think he's right."

Sirius shrugged, "He's Dumbledore."

"That would also explain Griffin," Remus said after a moment of silence rubbing his fingers against his jaw.

Sirius was glad Remus hadn't chosen to comment on the state of affairs at Grimmauld Place, but it didn't change the fact that he had no idea what his friend was talking about.

"If by explain you mean that anyone here apart from you has any idea what's bubbling in your head then I'm sorry to break it to you but it doesn't," he pointed out, twirled a finger in the air. "Explain, I mean. Anything. Zilch."

"Yeah," James drawled, cocking an eyebrow at Sirius. "I think what Padfoot's trying so eloquently to say is the fact that the connection you make is kind of elusive."

"Griffin's an Auror," Remus said like he was reciting an information bulletin and for all Sirius knew he might as well be. "Or should it be was, really. It was actually kind of a big story: the guy was captured by some dark wizards, held captive for something like a month before he finally managed to escape. Whatever happened it was enough for him not to get back to the division."

"Merlin, morbid much?" James exclaimed. "How do you even know these things, Moony?"

"I actually sometimes read the Daily Prophet instead of jumping straight to the Quidditch section," Remus answered in his usual deadpan.

"That's 'cause you've aged long before your time," James pointed out with a grin. "So, what you're saying is: dark wizards tying their shoelaces before the run, it's good to have around someone well practiced in tripping them?"

"No, that's because I sometimes look beyond the tip of my broom and a certain, albeit very charming, redhead," Remus answered without missing a beat. "And to answer your second question, yeah, pretty much."

James whistled in the back of his throat.

"So," Peter chimed in, a coy smile dancing on his lips, "a new Grindelwald wannabe gaining power, Slytherins eager for a target to practice their hexes on and a potential plot to break into Hogwarts. And we're not even through the first day yet."

"Oh, I haven't mentioned the best part," James beamed. "Sirius has just punched Snivellus in the face."


End file.
